


Relapse

by Fantine_Black



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ass to Mouth, Blasphemy, Canonical Child Abuse, Conditioning, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Daddy Kink, Dissociation, Dom/sub Undertones, Ex Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Mind Games, Modeling, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Original Percival Graves, Post-Break Up, Power Imbalance, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-23 00:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17672966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: "You shouldn’t be here," Credence says, as Percy slips his hand under his bathrobe, trails his fingers towards the small of his back.Percy hums softly, breath ghosting warm over his ear. "No? And why is that?"Credence gasps, the thought ripping his heart all over again."Because I left you."





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The person ringing the doorbell is insistent.

“Yes, fuck,” Credence says, pulling up his underwear before slinging his bathrobe over his shoulder. He’d been soaking. He likes to soak. He wouldn’t have moved if the guy desperate to talk about Jesus would have any fucking sense, but no such luck.

Credence doesn’t want to talk about Jesus anymore.

 “Yes, alright, alright,” he says as what could also be an overzealous Fed-Ex employee presses the bell yet another time. “Wha –”

That gaze that hits him like a train. The set jaw.

He’s kept him waiting.

He flinches, looks down, looks back.

Percy tilts his head. As Credence moves to close the door, he gives an almost imperceptibly little shake.

Credence steps back.

Percy walks in, forcing him to retreat further, waiting for Credence to close the door behind him.

They stare at each other. Credence swallows.

“Percy, what –”

“Come here.”

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be –”

“Here, boy.”

Credence looks down, clenches a fist. “No,” he says. “No, Percy, you shouldn’t be here, what are you doing here?”

Graves grabs his wrist and pulls Credence towards him. “Shh, pup, it’s alright –”

Credence pulls himself loose. “It’s not alright,” he says, feeling hot tears prickling behind his eyes. “Why are you here, what are you doing here?”

“Enough.”  

Credence hates how his breath stills, his shoulders sag. Hates how that one word has so much power over him. Like kryptonite.

Percy smiles. “Come say hello.”

Credence plants his feet on the ground, rounds his shoulders but doesn't move. “I want you to go.”

“Do you now?” Percy whispers. “Do you really?”

Credence shakes. “Daddy, please – ”

“Shhh, puppy,” he says, cradling the back of his head and pulling him closer, so they're standing cheek to cheek, the world reduced to Percy’s dark cologne and that smell that's just him, that makes Credence want to nuzzle that spot between his neck and his collar bone, lick him, drink in his scent. He wants to feel those arms around him, tan, with muscles so well proportioned they look as if Percy was born this way, straight out of Caravaggio, and not, as Credence well knows, merely dedicated to a strict morning routine. Pictures, even the sight himself as he stands before him, in a tight black shirt and faded jeans, do no justice to how the man _feels,_ how deft those fingers are, their slightest touch evoking months, years worth of memories. Photos, for all their focus on his dark locks, the eyes, the posture and strong stance, don’t capture a tenth of him. Credence wants to crumple, beg, bury his face at Percy’s navel, an errant, repenting disciple.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says, as Percy slips his hand under his bathrobe, trails his fingers towards the small of his back.

Percy hums softly, breath ghosting warm over his ear. “No? And why is that?”

Credence gasps, the thought ripping his heart all over again.

“Because I left you.” 

Percy smiles, a single, short moment, until he crawls a hand in Credence's hair and _pulls._

"Puppy," he says, pressing Credence's hips closer to him with his other hand, "I knew you wouldn't be happy until you'd fucked every goddamn photographer in the state, but I couldn't let you do that in my house, now, could I?" He twists his hands further into his curls, forcing a soft whine past Credence's lips. 

The bathrobe slips off. Percy's pupils dilate.

"Show me," he growls.

Credence blinks. "W- what?" His heart's hammering so wildly he knows Percy must feel it.

Percy tugs again. "Show me what they taught you, slut." 

He pushes him down and it is easy, much too easy, to sink to the floor, knees bending in a motion that has been beaten into him since before he could walk. Repent, repent, little sinner, little slut, and be granted absolution, be made holy in His image, and God, Credence doesn't know anymore. It's a comfort, sinking away in motion, it always has been. The floor is hard and gravelly under him, his fault, he should have swept it, that's six lashes later, and he's beyond grateful that it's Daddy's soothing hands on his head, not Ma's pinching fingers, and -

"Puppy." A warning tone: he's spiralling, Daddy's warm palm in his neck holding him back, anchoring.

Credence takes a breath. "Not here, Percy," he brings out, suddenly acutely aware he's kneeling on his hallway floor, all but mouthing his ex-boyfriend through his jeans. "Please."

"Up," Percy whispers, and Credence feels warm as Percy pulls his right arm to assist him. "Go," he says, as soon as they're standing eye to eye.

 _You have to stand up for yourself, Cre,_ Claudia's voice sings in his head.  _Can't make it too easy._

She must have never learnt to pick her battles. 

He bows his head. "Through here..." 

They've not made it two steps into the bedroom when Percy pushes him against the wall, coarse stone rubbing over old scars, forcing open his mouth, panting, licking, too much strength and far too many teeth. "How many," he whispers, holding him still with an arm across his throat, another slipping down the front of his boxers. 

"What do you think?" 

"Cheeky bitch," Percy says, pushing harder, and Credence's sight starts to narrow around the edges. "Did you get to top?" Percy pants. "Finally got your little dick wet?" 

I fucked Claudia, he wants to say. A few times. It was sweet. Something you could never give me, Percy. 

But he needs to give Daddy what he wants. That's always been the deal. So he shakes his head.

"Filthy boy," Percy says, kissing him again, fingers on his jaw, pushing a leg between his thighs. He's hard. They both are.

His back hurts.

"Can't breathe," Credence pants as he pulls back. "Gimme a minute - "

In response, Percy jerks him sideways, so they topple onto the bed. Credence winces as his right leg slams against the side. That's a bruise right there. He is thin skinned, Ma's told him often. Inside and out. It's embarassing.

Percy loves to paint his skin, hues of red, blue, purple, yellow.

He does it now, clamping his teeth on the soft skin below his jaw. 

"Aw, Daddy, hurts," Credence mewls. "Please, please stop -" 

"Yeah?" he says, cupping his balls, just about not squeezing. "That hurts?"

Credence stills, and Daddy smiles. "C'mere, baby," he says, lying on top of him, burying his hands in his hair. "God, you're fucking beautiful." 

He strokes a thumb over his lips, and Credence opens them on instinct. Percy laughs. "There you go, that's it," he says, slipping it in, making Credence lap at it. "That's it, there's my boy."

This part Credence always loved, Daddy stroking his face, kissing him like he means it. Warm and soft, honey sweet, letting his hand glide over his chest, down past his navel to the root of his cock.

Credence moans into his mouth, and Daddy thrusts his tongue in deeper. "You like that, dontcha?" he says, tightening his fingers around his shaft. "Filthy boy." 

Credence closes his eyes. He doesn't want to be filthy. It's all he ever heard. It may get Percy going - he's as conflicted about sex as Credence is, always looking for excuses. "Practically a girl," he's said, painting him with lipstick, as if that made it OK. As if it's Credence that's confusing him.

He's eager enough now, kissing and sucking all along Credence's jaw, his light stubble rubbing his skin raw. "Fuck, boy, I dreamt you," he whispers. "God, you're so fucking hot." He starts stroking Credence's cock, too hard, all but clawing his nails into it. 

"Fuck, Percy!" Credence mewls, thrusting his hips up, but there's some anger to it, at least, he's not about to take everything. But Percy grins, the bastard, pushing him down as he sits back on his heels. 

"Go get the lube." 

"Don't have any," Credence protests, sharper this time. He wonders if Percy sees him, at all, or is still in love with his image; an insatiable twink that won't say no to anything or anyone, greedy for any touch that isn't cruel, and quite a few that are. 

If he'd only stopped to wonder why that was.

 But Percy's delighted. "Out already? Why, aren't you a lucky boy."

"What do you mean, 'already'?" They haven't seen each other in two months (Fifty-nine days and counting, although he might have to reset that clock) and Credence hasn't bought a packet of lube since. Hasn't been with any man, although he knows Percy won't believe that.

"Shh, puppy. Daddy's thought of you." 

Percy yanks his underwear down to his ankles, restricting Credence's movements, then dips a hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

Travel package of lube and a condom.

Shit, how did they get here?  

"Percy, don't," he whispers. "Jesus, please - "

"Quiet."

"You can't just - " 

"Will you shut up?"

He flinches so hard it's embarassing, and Daddy cups his cheek.

"Puppy," he whispers, "if you really didn't want this, would I be here?"

Yes, Credence thinks, because I couldn't say no to a dormouse. Because I need you. Because I'm going half mad for your touch.

Daddy smiles. "Spread that cute ass, sweetheart."

He hates himself as he feels the extra pressure in his dick, his balls. Spread out like a whore. Percy's making a show of it, too. Flexing his muscles as he pushes him apart. Taking off his t-shirt just a bit too slow. Always the right lighting. 

Percy knows, alright, how to make him squirm, coating his fingers in lube to rub around Credence's asshole. 

The inevitability of it. All the time in the world.

"You can jerk off."

 _Can_   _I now?_ But that part is much too new, much too young for the boy in him that could cry with gratitude at the simple permission, the certainty that this time, the belt wouldn't all but flay his palms if Ma caught him self-abusing. The fear that never leaves, even when he is alone - especially then. 

Thick, strong fingers on his ass. Jesus, he is a whore, it's all he wants to be. The threat of a thousand hells isn't enough to stop him craving this.

The threat of Percy. 

He crawls a finger to the man's chest hair, and Percy smiles. He used to smile more in the beginning.

Credence misses him.

"You're tight, puppy."

He looks away, bashful, as if it's a compliment. Keeping himself good and tight for Daddy.

Truth is, he sounds a little impatient.

He looks up, fear raging in his chest. "I could suck you off - "

"How would that help?" He curls another finger in. "Relax, puppy." 

Not gonna - o, there it is, he needs that place fucked yesterday. He lifts his hips, and Daddy leans down to kiss him. "That's my boy."

Jesus, he's curling his tips over and over again, and Credence is writhing. Nothing feels like this, this man, so close, finally opening his jeans to take his dick out, Credence looking on through half lidded-eyelids, jerking himself off with trembling hands.

Christ forgive him, he needs that cock. And Percy is practically grinning as he pulls out his fingers and puts them in Credence's mouth. "Clean me up," he whispers and it's _wrong,_ but there's far worse things he would do. He sucks and sucks and brings out: "Fuck me" -

"What was that?"

"Please, Daddy, fuck me!"

Daddy jerks him up by his right arm, forcing him to let go of his cock. "Put on my condom then, don't lie there." 

This, too, has always been part of their game, except for a brief lull when they'd both been tested and Percy was not yet suspicious. It forces Credence to get to his knees, head down; he sometimes even gave a little head before, but that's not what he's planning to do this time. Instead, he lunges for Percy, kissing deeply, all the longing of desperate weeks on his lips. 

 _Be soft,_ he prays. _Be gentle, be_ ...

Percy throws him back into the pillows, yanking his hips down as he lands on top of him. "Wanna go bareback?" he hisses, a hand to his throat.

All things considered, better they don't.

"Didn't think so," he growls at Credence's headshake. "Stay there."

He takes off his boots, socks, jeans and boxers, daring him to move. The man's beauty is hypnotic, like Lucifer himself.

Credence couldn't move if he tried.

He hands him the condom wrapper, hand under his chin. "Put it on." 

Credence does, reverent in the sight of so much splendor. When his hands touch Percy's cock, he gives a little thrust.

"Lie back."

Is this what the Virgin Mary felt, overcome with the Holy Spirit? Credence likes to think so, sacrilegious as it is. Who'd deny God himself? Credence looks at him, in worship, as he takes what he wants. The burn is pre-ordained, too, as much penance as offering; for forgetting his rightful place in the sight of awesomeness.

Except angels probably don't curse so much. "Look at me," Percy hisses, working in him, and Credence imagines how beautifully the muscles of Percy's ass must be clenching right now. His hands slip lower to cup them, but Percy pins him down. He's come here to take his pleasure, his due, what Credence wants is irrelevant.

He looks away.

Percy rams his ass then, spearing him full of cock, face set in a deep, animal snarl. "Fucking slut," he says. "Little whore." 

'Baby', 'darling'. 'Puppy', 'love'. Things he used to say.

Things they lost in the wreckage.

"Percy, stop," he says, and he doesn't care if he hits him. "Fucking  _stop_." 

"Make me," Percy grins, and Credence shouldn't have to, but he'll try now. 

He goes for Percy's face.

"Fuck!" he shouts, and it is a real fight now, Credence kicking and scratching wherever he can reach. He is trying to crawl away, trying to crawl over -

Percy hits him straight in the chest.

Credence mouth falls open in a small 'o'. He swears his heart stutters from the impact, but Percy wastes no time, just flips him over onto his belly and starts fucking again, brutal, pinning down Credence's wrists with both his hands. 

Credence distantly feels his own cock rubbing against the mattress, feels pleasure building, but it's far away. As Percy buries a hand in his hair and thrusts his cock in, deep, cums, Credence has his eyes on the black headboard.

Daddy's weight is heavy, dead.

"Jesus, Credence," he says. "Fuck it, you're good, baby."

He pulls out. There's no cum inside inside his ass. It's a small mercy.

Percy rolls off of him, stands up. "Where's the bathroom?" 

Credence can't speak. Percy laughs. "OK, I'll find it myself." 

Credence doesn't move. When he hears the door slam, he goes to get his bathrobe, discarded on the floor. Then he goes for a packet of smokes. Camel Blue - he always says they're Claudia's.

He almost burns himself lighting one, but he manages before Percy returns. He doesn't turn around, just stares out of the window.

He feels two hands on his hips, lips in his neck. "Hey, puppy."

He swallows, makes a fist. "You didn't answer my question."

"Hmmm?" Percy pulls him closer against his body. Credence goes rigid. "Why are you here?"

"I have a job for you." 

He turns around. "Really."

"It's for Jaeger."

He snorts. "You need a website for Jaeger." 

Percy pinches him. "Cut it out. It's for their ad campaign. You'd be perfect."

Credence sighs. "I've quit the agency."

"Good," Percy chimes. He moves away; Credence hears the rustling of clothing. "More money for you." 

He closes his eyes. "Jaeger-LeCoultre do not work with independent models." 

"They work with Theseus," Percy says. "And he agrees." Credence hears him putting on his boots. "Next Wednesday. I'll text you the address."

Credence turns around, shaking, and pulls at the hem of his robe. "This'll still be here next Wednesday!"

Percy smiles. It looks sadistic. "Not a problem. See you, kid!" 

"Go to Hell!" Credence screams at his retreating form, but all he hears is laughter.


End file.
